


rebuild and reset

by meltedbutter (solarzenith)



Series: found [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:27:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21925939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solarzenith/pseuds/meltedbutter
Summary: "They were meant to be past this: the trials, the boundaries drawn to keep them apart. They’d broken down every wall built up in their path, and they just needed a little time to settle down.Instead, they got this. An alien planet burning beneath their feet and a dysfunctional team slipping through their fingers. Tony could never do enough, was seemingly incapable of creating world peace out of a box of scraps."tony suffers and comes back from the grave. peter is there every step.intended as a part two, but could potentially stand alone.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Series: found [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1579096
Comments: 3
Kudos: 27





	rebuild and reset

**Author's Note:**

> This story covers parts of Endgame from a different perspective while building towards its own end.
> 
> I do recommend reading the first part to fully understand how these two got here, but this story could potentially stand alone. I have an idea where this story is going, I just needed to post this first half to make myself finish the rest. Do everything you can to force my hand, please! c:
> 
> Side note: I'm sick of looking at this and over-analyzing it so that is the main reason I'm posting this before the rest is complete. it is still not as polished as I'd like, but here we are.

There wasn't enough time; then they had no time at all.

They were meant to be past this: the trials, the boundaries drawn to keep them apart. They’d broken down every wall built up in their path, and they just needed a little time to settle down.

Instead, they got this. An alien planet burning beneath their feet and a dysfunctional team slipping through their fingers. Tony could never do enough, was seemingly incapable of creating world peace out of a box of scraps.

He watched the scene almost on autopilot, making room in his chest for the way it stretched him apart and expected recognition. There was nothing to be done. There were no more tricks, no more strategizing; not enough groveling could solidify the sand on his hands back into a whole.

Peter had collapsed into his arms, begging to be held together. Tony tried, he did everything but wrap him up in useless, shattered nanotech. That shield was a broken sword and he was rendered mortal; he had no power outside his shaking hands tugging at Peter’s back.

They were stuck in their nightmare. Peter’s wet, broken voice etched guilt into his bones. Peter clung to him, nose planted into his clavicle as if the bad thing would go away if he couldn’t see it. Tony turned into him just the same, fingers skidding up to hold him there by the back of his neck. Tony wanted to crumble, wanted to take that burden from Peter and sink to the dirt, if only to make things fair.

Instead, the universe took the white soul over the greywash. Peter fell before Tony had a chance to stabilize them, and then Peter was meeting the floor. Tears leaked down his temples and he choked on his own throat.

There was nothing left to say, there was nothing good enough. Tony held Peter's face in the cup of his hand until he was clutching at dust. Then he wasn’t even allowed to keep that.

-

There were voices constantly circling his waterlogged skull; the voices were both bodiless and not. He netted them all, nothing drifted past him or got mixed up in the fog. He looked as if he wasn’t fully present, even intentionally creating the facade to be left alone on a few occasions, but it was just that: a mask.

He heard it all, and he heard too much. They’d lost; he didn’t know how many times he could bear it before the bile stopped climbing his throat.

No one knew how badly he’d missed the mark, how horribly he’d miscalculated. No one knew what Peter was, to him or to the world. No one even knew the kid's real name yet. 

They knew him as the guy Tony roped into the confrontation at the airport, and that was it. They talked about him as if he was a passing concept. He wasn’t solidified to them, the kid was just a colorful ball of sass without a recognizable face. They cared, of course, but Peter didn’t uproot their hearts when he’d disintegrated, not like he did Tony’s.

Rogers told him that he needed Tony to focus, and something snapped. Not a set of gloved fingers, but rather the casing holding his heart together. It cracked and everything spilled out, Well, not everything. Just enough to get him to the end of a thought, his final thought on Rogers.

 _Liar_.

Then he met the floor and he figured maybe he could finally have the peace his soul called for. Unfortunately, he woke in a hospital bed with three caring faces looking down on him. He silently, uselessly, begged for the fourth to pop his head in the door and awkwardly ask permission to enter, as if the kid wasn’t welcomed by his side.

The fourth face never came to him, not physically anyway.

Instead Peter was a shadow in his peripheral, a ghost against his pillows.

Five weeks turned to five years and Tony lost track of how many times he reached out to Peter just to catch air.

-

Those five years passed, and Tony didn’t change. Tony didn’t grow, he didn’t even attempt to move on. Instead, he spent every day, as many as he could before someone stopped in to pull him out, working on the solution. And it was _the_ solution, not _a_ solution, because it was not tentative and unknown, he would find it. It existed, and he owed everything to Peter to track it down.

He would say he was embarrassed when it was Scott Lang back from the grave that gave him the exoskeleton of an idea, but then he couldn’t be anything other than grateful.

At least he finally had a chance, a hint of hope.

-

Tony was at the back of the Avengers conference room, sitting under a grey rain cloud. Everyone left him alone easily enough. He popped into the conversation when he felt that dim light bulb flicker with a spark of coherence, but otherwise stayed silent. No one pushed him, especially after that break down he had five years ago.

Everyone was quickly testing his patience, though, pushing his hope down deep enough to get lost. Because this was their one chance, and no one knew where to start with it. He’d expected this to take off much quicker than it had so far. He’d hoped, once he’d cracked the code, that Peter would be in his arms within 24 hours. Instead it was days later and they had barely even decided where to start.

He was fiddling with the picture he’d kept wadded up in his wallet when someone asked for his attention.

He looked up with a sunken, dark look, movement slow and uninterested.

Nat was staring back with her arms crossed like he was disappointing her again. He rolled his eyes and tucked the picture back into its hidey hole, “Yes, mom?”

Nat gave him an unimpressed eyebrow and shrugged, “I just thought you’d be interested in knowing the game plan, unless you had something better to be doing?”

Tony nodded and tried to collect himself. He was getting lost in it again, the faithlessness, he was aware. He’d let this black, heavy doubt become a second skin, something he was unwilling to live without lest they messed it all up again. He didn’t think he could live through getting his hopes up and losing anyway a second time. His instinct to build armor around the issue would never stop at himself.

Tony shook it off and sat up to listen. This was going to work because it had to. This was it, the solution, the last chance. He was an essential piece of the machine, the divine hand of creation. This was his shot to pull off, and his to ruin.

He was not as good at coping with that crushing weight as he needed to be.

Despite that, he leaned into the efforts. They finally decided the time and the place they each needed to jump to, and all that was left was the execution. This was the part he was fully equipped to handle: the mission.

It was a straight line. There was no wiggle room in the middle, there was no capacity for mistakes. The end game was clear, and Tony was going to reach it.

-

Hulk-Bruce was incinerated from shoulder to fingertips on the right side and all that changed was the brightness of the sun.

But then a phone rang somewhere on the peripheral of his awareness, and he couldn’t help but let it bring him to his knees, completely stripping him raw.

It worked, they’d done it. He was absolved, and he was found.

He lightly listened in on Clint talking to his betrothed, and he could hardly contain the swell of excitement at the prospect of doing the same. _Speaking of, where is Peter?_

The ceiling was blown out above him just as that specific thought got rolling, and his happy ending was put on hold for a second time.

He didn’t get to see the kid before taking a few more beatings first, which just made him exhausted and ready to collapse. He barely caught sight of the golden arches opening across the battlefield, and he was only slightly irritated by the prospect of inviting so many wizards to his wedding.

He wasn’t even standing when Peter finally swung over to him, picking him up by the hand and forcing their eyes to meet for the first time in five years. Tony saw the uncertainty lurking behind his bright optimism, clearly aware of everything that happened in his absence.

Peter was reserved when Tony didn’t take the chance to move, not even to speak. Instead Tony just watched him, taking in the features that he’d always feared to forget. The silence stretched, and they hardly had the time for this now, but he’d just gotten Peter back and he couldn’t help but soak up every second he had with him.

Peter’s nerves seemed to boil over as he softly asked, “Tony, I know it’s been five years for you but I have to ask. Did you…?”

And Tony was still so easily knocked on his ass by this kid.

Tony shook his head and moved forward, taking Peter’s jaw between his palms and making things abundantly clear, “Did I what? Move on?”

Peter swallowed and solumley looked up, as if he was considering the possibility still despite the piles of evidence against it, and Tony couldn’t help but smile. There were tears sinking down his cheeks, but anyone that looked would know it was a peaceful smile nonetheless.

Peter choked on his own hitch of breath, and Tony was finally pushed to action. He pulled where his fingers were notched into Peter’s neck, and the kid rushed to meet him in the middle.

Maybe it wasn’t the right time, and maybe he shouldn’t have let anyone see them like that, but he was so far past caring at this point that he didn’t even flinch. Peter melted with it, leaned into it, letting him know he made the right call.

An explosion went off to their left and Tony turned them so that his back was facing it, Peter securely held against his chest. Peter stuck his face into the shallow of his neck and Tony could feel the smile against his skin.

Tony peppered him with a fraction of the five-years worth of adoration stored in his soul, kissing the top of Peter’s head and moving towards the spot above his ear to breathe, “Missed you, baby.”

Peter sobbed again, clutching him tighter and digging his nose in. Tony gripped one last time at Peter’s nape and pulled them apart, “We’re not done yet.”

Peter wiped at his nose with the sleeve of armor and nodded, red-rimmed eyes focusing up quickly. Tony smiled again and squeezed his shoulder, “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

Peter nodded, as if not doing so wasn’t even an option, and threw out a web, easily jumping back into the fight that nearly tore them apart five years ago. Tony would never be able to contain his pride.

He was on his knees, looking to the sky for an answer with six stones burning a couple holes through his hand. He hadn’t really thought it through, all he knew was that they couldn’t lose again. _He_ couldn’t lose again. Peter couldn’t be saved a second time, and his own life was a perfectly fair price to pay for that.

He heard Peter over the comms in his suit, begging him to pass off the torch, as if this wasn’t their final play. This was their last shot. Tony was their one in fourteen million. 

Peter’s death the first time was allowed based on Tony following-up with his own incineration the second time. It was always meant to come down to this, and he wasn’t going to ruin Peter’s second chance, his sacrifice, out of selfishness.

Tony was secure and unwavering in his choice. He tried to soothe Peter as much as he could, as his final act, “I’ll be okay. I’m Iron Man.”

Tony snapped his fingers, and the battlefield turned to ash.

-

-

-

Tony, against his better judgement and general expectation, woke up in what appeared to be a hospital room. It wasn’t the usual hospital room, as it had all-glass tinted walls and a healing cradle shoved in the corner, but the IV stuck into the crook of his left elbow was a dead giveaway.

He wasn’t supposed to be alive, but he also knew that this wasn’t heaven. First, because he didn’t believe in it, but also because there wasn’t a gold band on his left ring finger.

Those dreams were always the most unrealistic to him out of everything he imagined in the last five years. He and Peter were good, really good, but he knew he was insane to think he’d get that. Tony didn’t deserve it, shouldn’t be given the opportunity to ruin it, and he was in no position to lock the kid down when he had so much life left to live.

He quickly became exasperated with himself. He was awake and alive with Peter in the same universe again and, despite that utter miracle, he was still slipping so easily back to old habits, talking himself into a black hole. He huffed and went to crack the tension from his body until he, far too slowly, realized Peter was asleep against his side and successfully pinning his right arm to the mattress.

Well, he supposed he could be glad he even had a right arm. He was apprehensive to see it, if he was honest. He vaguely remembered, after dusting Thanos, running his black, burnt fingertips across Peter’s cheekbone. He must not have been lucid... after.

He attempted to wiggle his fingers where they were trapped at the base of Peter’s spine, just to see if he even had them, and it stirred the sleeping spider enough to consider wakefulness.

Peter’s eyes opened and he looked up with the universe condensed in his pupils. 

Tony was overwhelmed by it, right off the bat, “If I wasn’t worried that I’d die by moving, I’d roll over and squash you and never let us move again.”

That was a weird thing to say.

Peter’s nose scrunched up in a goofy laugh and he tisked, “I told them to hold back on the morphine.”

Tony used his free arm to pull on the thigh Peter had propped up. He tugged it enough that Peter got the hint, smiling as he moved onto Tony’s lap. Peter wrapped his arms over Tony’s shoulders and dug his fingers into the hair at Tony’s nape.

Peter hummed, “Missed you too, ya know.”

Tony tilted his head, “Did I say I missed you?”

Peter hit him with his most unimpressed look. 

Tony smiled, “Because I meant that I almost died without you.”

He sucked the playful energy right out of the room, watched as it slipped from Peter’s features and hit the floor. He was sick of not saying it, sick of letting it get caught behind his teeth.

“You’re here, and it’s over, but God, it took way too fucking long.”

Tony’s miraculously skin-colored right arm wrapped around Peter’s waist and pulled him even closer. Peter’s fingers combed tenderly at his temple, despite the tremor they held.

Peter’s words were watery when he opened up in turn, “I was scared, when I saw you on the field outside the compound, that - that maybe you’d changed your mind again.”

Tony shook his head but held back the quip he’d readied on his tongue. The room was blue around them and Peter was soft to the touch. His heart was so easily poked and bruised; now wasn’t the time to say anything other than what he meant.

Tony sighed, “I watched you die in my arms just weeks after that morning in my kitchen.”

He had to close his eyes, the phantom pain in his chest cutting his words short. A gentle kiss was pressed into his cheek, and his eyes burned from it. Peter pulled back, waiting.

Tony opened his eyes, “I thought creating time travel was a big enough declaration, but kid, there’s _no one_ I could want more than you. There’s no one I would turn the universe inside out for other than you.”

Peter’s chest stuttered on a breath, as if he thought he’d never hear those words, and Tony decided to take home some of the big-mouth-juice they’d pumped him full of because he never wanted Peter to feel like any less than Tony’s first choice.

Peter leaned in, all desperation and heady confidence, tugging Tony close and sinking into the moment. There was nothing left to keep them apart, and they weren’t willing to waste another minute.

Peter pecked at his lips with his nose dug into Tony’s cheek as he whispered, “Thank you, thank you…”

Tony reached up and held the shaking hand tugging on the back of his neck, “Don’t, Peter-”

A light _tap, tap, tap_ cut through the room, and Peter froze, eyes misted over and tongue stuck in his throat. Tony didn’t look much better. They felt glued together, unable to pull their skin apart from one another. Tony didn’t really want to force it anyway.

“Tones, I know you’re awake.”

Tension unfurled from the knot held in his chest and Peter swayed with him in turn. Peter went to move off his lap, off the bed entirely, but Tony wasn’t quite ready for that space. 

He reached out and wrapped Peter snuggly into his side, kissing the top of his head and calling out, “Come on in, sourpatch, the water’s fine.”

Peter was tense against him, and maybe he shouldn’t have imposed his will on the situation, but Tony was ready to tell the world, and by proxy his right-hand man. Rhodey wasn’t going to approve, and Tony didn’t expect him to, but it wasn’t his call, and Tony was past asking for opinions.

Rhodey pushed the door open, didn’t flinch in the face of Peter gripping Tony’s white t-shirt like a life-line, and sealed the room shut, making the space smaller, stifling.

Rhodey stepped up to the bed with his arms crossed, nodded to Peter, and let his gaze settle on Tony.

Tony watched the resolve drain from his features, watched his eyes go pink around the edges like he was holding something back, and Tony let his own mask slip.

Rhodey’s shoulders slumped, “Do you have any villainous thoughts, any lava vomit?”

The breath that blew from his nostrils was genuine shock, and his grip reflexively loosened against Peter’s side. 

He brought his brows together in mock-thought, looking down at Peter with a smirk, “Did someone experiment on me while I was out?”

Peter’s returning smile wasn’t a mirror, but rather a ghost. Clearly, it was too soon for that jab. Tony gave him a reassuring squeeze at the hip, trying to quell the memories from surfacing, and turned back to Rhodey.

“No, Colonel, no lava vomit. I fixed that little quirk, remember?”

Rhodes shrugged like that was a questionable point, “Can’t be too sure, with your track record.”

“What!?”

Peter giggled, and Tony was shell-shocked by their treachery. He tipped his head back against the pillows and groaned, “What kind of sidekick are you?”

“Sidekick!?”

Tony smiled at the ceiling, “You know, Iron Patriot is the perfect knock off. Same shape, same tricks, but with just the worst codename imaginable.”

Rhodey sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, as if Tony was pushing his last unpressed button, and Tony was suddenly curious who was outside the door. Rhodey opened his eyes, the smirk there dissipating with the sigh he released.

“Thank you, for working out those ‘quirks’ before obliterating your organs to dust. I wasn’t sure you’d get a twenty-fourth chance, honestly.”

Tony nodded and looked away, recognizing the undercurrent of fear and concern lacing Rhodey’s comment. He did his best to keep people safe, to keep _these_ people safe, but every choice was a double-edged sword. He couldn’t make the right call, because there wasn’t one. Every ending was an unhappy one.

Tony couldn’t help the snark that slipped past, “Hm, I seem to remember Stranges’ speech being much more supportive than this. Said I was like, the savior of the world and our only good shot at winning or something. Very sweet.”

Rhodey shook his head like he couldn’t stand to hear it, and tilted Tony’s eyes up to his with a hand on his chin, “Never again.”

Tony dislodged the grip and lit up with red-hot resolve, “Depends who’s on the line.”

Rhodey’s gaze quickly cut to Peter and back. Tony didn’t falter.

Peter, surprisingly, spoke up then. It wasn’t anything but a whisper of Tony’s name, a plea and a warning rolled into one bullet. It shot through his chest, dead-center, and brought a wave crashing behind it.

His heart-rate was spiking as his headspace got covered in a thick layer of ash. He could feel it coating his hands, with the orange sky bearing down and burning his neck as he bowed towards the dirt.

He couldn’t do it the first time, and he couldn’t do it again. He turned into Peter’s neck and quietly begged through his teeth, “Please... please don’t ask that of me. I can’t...”

He was hyperventilating, just a little bit. He’d been forced to get some medication during those five years, couldn’t seem to use his hands without it, and he didn’t have it now.

The warm palm that settled on his fluttering chest seemed to work just as good, and the same went for the voice in his ear that promised nothing was wrong, that everything was okay now. Those two anchors alone could topple the pharmaceutical industry, as far as he was concerned.

He nodded slightly where he was tucked into Peter’s neck, breath coming easier now. He didn’t speak when Rhodey’s fingers wrapped over his shoulder and pulled him out, harshly exposing him to reality again.

Rhodey was kneeling now, eyes locked on his and begging for understanding, “We can’t lose you again, Tony.”

Indignation spiked like lightning through his chest, and coming to an understanding was missed by a mile, “You can’t ask me to stop, because I physically _can’t_. I won’t.”

He said the last part through his teeth, because it had to mean something. There had to be a reason his heart pulled to action, to self-destruction, to resolution. His reasons were right there, in the room and flooding into the hall. He couldn’t survive alone; he couldn’t take being the last one standing.

Rhodey watched silently as not a single new decision floated across his features. Tony would never stop, and it was better to get that understanding settled now rather than later.

Rhodey backed off and stood up again, arms crossing over his chest like a sentry, “At least take it easy for me. Just, let Extremis run its course, and stay low ‘til you’re cleared.”

Tony decided to let the fire in his veins cherry to a smoke as the fight seeped out of him. He nodded, brushed the conversation off, and settled back against the pillows.

Rhodey was right about one thing: he needed to rest. He muttered something snarky about his refractory period before the last ounce of energy in his system burned out. He closed his eyes, held fast to Peter’s side, and let the IV drip knock him out.

-

When he woke up next, Peter was across the room and burning a hole through the floor. He wasn’t sure why that little ball of anger was grinding its teeth as he watched over the room, because he was just fine in Tony's arms before, when Rhodey was-

“Tony.”

Ah, that. That made sense, then. He groaned and harshly rubbed at his eyes, rolled his head back against the pillows, and begged the ceiling for a way out. Nothing came, so he resigned to his fate.

“Cap, I’d love to do this another time if we could, maybe pencil you in next week?”

Steve sighed like he always did when Tony spoke, and gently settled into the plastic chair pulled up far too close to the side of his bed.

“I’m not sure what you expect us to ‘do’, exactly, but I just wanted to check on you, and thank you.”

Tony looked at him then, out of complete surprise more than anything. He didn’t want to say something to derail this back to the topic he assumed it was, but he was inexplicably caught off guard.

Despite that, he wasn’t going to take any credit he didn’t need, “Don’t thank me, any one of you would have done the same.”

Cap shrugged like they were talking about the weather, “But we didn’t, and you did.”

Tony huffed, unsure where to exert his fidgety energy under this unrelenting onslaught, “Yeah, well… I didn’t stabilize time travel to catch up over a cup of coffee.”

He always had to make things difficult, he realized that, but he also saw it for what it was: a deflection tactic. He didn’t want praise because that’s not why he did it. He didn’t want honor because he was just righting his own wrongs. It was a selfish act masked as a heroic feat, and he wasn’t so caught up in himself to let anyone see it as something else.

So, he deflected.

But Peter wouldn’t let the joke slide, “Tony.”

Tony sighed, “Why does everyone say my name like that?”

Peter huffed his chest and raised an eyebrow, and it almost hurt Tony’s pride. Then Peter smiled, tilted his head in Cap’s direction, and made eyes that begged to get them out of this conversation.

It wasn’t going to be that easy. Tony sat up and nodded to Rogers, “Your appreciation is noted, Captain, you are hereby relieved of duty.”

Steve seemed to be equally sick of the conversation and the direction it was headed, “Well, it wasn’t an obligation I was fulfilling, but I’m glad I got to say it at least.”

Tony dodged that sentence, because it was too much to look at. Captain America appreciated something Tony had done even though normally, after these types of decisions on the field, Tony would be getting an ear full right about now. Not to mention the fact that Steve most definitely saw Tony plant one on Peter right next to a planet-hungry Titan. Tony should be being berated, and he knew somewhere in that oversized heart that Steve had something else to say, but they mutually decided not to drag it out.

That made the gratitude taste bitter. The thanks was a means to an end and nothing else.

Tony sniffed and looked towards the door, trying to snuff out any lingering hospitality, “Right.”

He intended for that to be the end, but then Steve looked over at Peter and Tony got this ugly tug in his gut. If anyone was going to be reprimanded for their actions, the last person it was going to be was Peter - Tony would make sure of that.

But Peter didn’t stumble, instead he matched Steve head on and weathered the stare.

Rogers was silent for a very long time, opting to just look at the kid with something heavy on his shoulders. Tony almost coughed to break the glass until Steve finally spoke, “Are you alright, son?”

There were many ways Peter could answer that question, Tony was aware. There were also many ways that question was intended to be taken, for both of them.

Peter drew his eyebrows together as if he didn’t understand why he was being asked this. He looked down at his body, over his arms, at his hands, and stretched out his legs.

Peter looked up from his investigation with a smile, “Yepp, all healed, sir.”

Tony could sense Steve’s urge to push the subject, and Tony was sick of being a captive audience. Captive in both ways.

“Didn’t you see the crew he fought with, Rogers? He had plenty of protection.”

Peter rolled his eyes, likely electing to hold back the gripe he wanted to make regarding how much protection he required, or rather how little. Tony smiled at the effort and Steve stood up.

“Just checking on everyone. I’ll leave you to rest, Tony.”

He said it in a way that implied he wanted to take Peter with him so that nothing else would happen in their room. He didn’t, fortunately for himself, make the choice to ask Peter to move, though.

Tony nodded him out of the room and settled back into post-resurrection bliss. He stuck out his arm to make grabby hands at Peter, silently asking he come join him on the bed again. Tony was sick of sharing this space with more than the two of them.

When Peter stood to move, Tony said, “Pete, lock the door.”

Peter paused in his tracks as his eyebrows shot up to his hairline. He moved to listen, despite his wide eyes, and Tony decided to let him off the hook.

“We both need to sleep.”

He didn’t know what time it was, but it felt like they’d been shuffling through guest after guest for most of the day.

Peter huffed, seemingly in relief which was not a thought Tony wanted to sit on, and responded, “What we _need_ is to get back to the lake. I’m sick of this room.”

Tony covered his hurt with a smirk and a pat on the bed, “You’re free to leave, you know.”

Peter lazily dropped his whole body against Tony’s side and stuck his nose into Tony’s collarbone, “You’ll be released soon enough. We’ll walk out together.”

Tony leaned over and scooped his fingers into the back of Peter’s hair, pulling him even closer, “You got it, baby.”

Peter hummed and pressed his lips against Tony’s throat. They were out before the sun set.

**Author's Note:**

> the explicit tag will come into play in the next chapter btw, sorry for the bait n switch lol


End file.
